


Little Sherlock Thing That I Wrote In Class

by CakecroftAteAPieFacedScone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Military Kink, enjoy the little thing that i wrote??, just a little thing, wont go anywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:05:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakecroftAteAPieFacedScone/pseuds/CakecroftAteAPieFacedScone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlocks military kink starts earlier?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Sherlock Thing That I Wrote In Class

John and Sherlock are just flatmates.

Right?

Yes. Yes, they're just that. Flatmates.

Not that John cares. Not that John has been having certain thoughts about cupid bow lips, dumb curly hair, and the stupid giraffe height detective they belong to. Nope.

He didn't need to remind himself about their "just flatmates" status. Especially when Sherlock got close enough to touch. Or learned down enough to kiss. No, he didnt need to remind himself. Not at all.

The poor army doctor was having such a hard time lately. Not because Sherlock has been acting strange recently. Surely what he's been doing has not been flirting with John. Sherlock doesn't do flirting. With John. No.

Poor John Watson being dragged around without rest. Sherlock not once thinking the doctor needed a moments rest after chasing the mad detective for ages. You'd think they'd have found the damn thief by now. 

Trudging after the damn bastard after dead end into 221B, John headed straight for the couch and planked head first onto the cushions. Should he have turned he'd have witnessed a rare sight.

A flustered Sherlock Holmes.

The cause for this you ask? One John Hamish Watson. Captain John Hamish Watson to be exact. 

His commanding voice to be sure. Hitting the dead end put Sherlock in a fouler mood, and as usual he lashed out with insults. John, the poor sod, had had enough. He stepped right up into Sherlocks space. Shoulders squared, stance even, head leveled, and voice sharp.

Sherlock swore his knees buckled. 

Lestrade all red in the face, had to turn away.

Now, here Sherlock was. All hot and bothered not knowing what to do with himself now that Johns back was turned. 

Not sure if John was still breathing now, faced all mooshed in the cushions, Sherlock stepped forward and poked him. 

Not a single twitch. Out cold. Good.

Now to figure out how he can up his charm and woo John Fucking Watson.


End file.
